


By the Light that's found its way in

by Sgr_A



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: I SHOT UP FROM MY BED AT 2AM TO START WRITING THIS, Other, finds out friend is evil, gratutious rahvin hate, its always the rahvin hate, local undead musician visits friend, starts flirting immediately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8412871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sgr_A/pseuds/Sgr_A
Summary: Some things hurt less than being a living walking dead man.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself yesterday, okay, I finished the big bang fic, now Im taking a break. Then I wrote a 3k fic in less than 24 hours.  
> It fits into the Loose Thread canon, but I'll probably scrape the original Loose Thread and start from scratch.  
> Terribly OOC I'm afraid.

Joar all but danced through the Black Tower hallways, pleasantly greeting every single black-coated man he saw. It was the most he could do to push down a slight wave of nausea that washed over him when he recognized the look in many of their eyes- like there was something else living behind them. He knew that look well and it was exactly what he did not want to see here.

Rand talked to him, for the first time in months. He was Pit of Doom frozen over and said something about a Forsaken in the Black Tower - something Joar himself was certain of, already. Then he sent him into the Tower itself to warn M'hael, for they had 'an interesting companionship'.

There was no telling the Dragon flaming Reborn that you, a former Forsaken certain everyone's out to get you, being sent straight into the place where another Forsaken roams free to warn the one lone man who runs that place about the threat he may already be aware of, is probably not the smartest idea his dragon brain has ever come up with.

So here he was, wincing inside with every soulless sneer sent his way, trying to stroll confidently through the hallways right for Taim's work room. There were less and less people the deeper in he got, and saying the fact almost every single one of them looked at him with those eyes didn't terrify him would be a lie.

Finally he reached the floor where the room was and as he feared, a dead-eyed Asha'man was standing watch in front of the door. On the other side was Corlan Dashiva, the one Asha'man who always made him uneasy.

"What do you want, bard?" the dead-eyed one grinned as if it was a very creative insult.

Joar stood straight and proud, past the terror he was feeling. He'd been in enough pain recently to quite master self control and composure.

"I've come to speak to Mazrim Taim."

"He's gone, _musician_ " Dashiva sneered from the other side, grinning with his rotten teeth. Then he laughed, and the monster on the other side of the door joined in and Joar felt something fundamentally _wrong_ , like the fine hairs on his neck standing-

"I'm right here, Asha'man Dashiva."

Joar nearly jumped out of his own skin when the voice came from behind him. It was Taim, thank the Light it was him. The slightly taller man walked past him, holding saidin.

"M'Hael." Dashiva snarled, or smiled at him, bowing gently along with the other Asha'man.

Taim merely waved at them. He loosened the wards around his door and left them open. Joar shifted uncomfortably, eyeing both Dashiva and the other Asha'man whose name he didn't know. Dashiva turned the snarl on him. The Asha'man raised an eyebrow, a hateful smirk in the corners of his lips.

"Are you waiting for the Final Battle, Natael?" Taim called from inside the room. Joar wasn't, so he ran for it, between the two Asha'man who made his skin crawl. The door closed behind him and he felt channeling from Taim as all the wards were put back into place.

He huffed a breath of relief and looked up.

"M'Hael." He bowed with flourish he almost couldn't afford.

Taim look so worn. He was paler than usual, black hair hanging like a limp curtain. He radiated exhaustion somehow. _By the Light that's found its way in me-_ Joar thought, but did not finish it when he looked right into Taim's eyes.He recognized that specific, sneaky sort of darkness, the thing that was not the man he knew but fit perfectly into his skin, spoke with his voice and smiled lopsided - in much the same way

"Master Natael" The thing with Taim's face smirked wider, the corners of his eyes creasing as though glad to see him - and for some odd reason, a parody of everything in this world, he really was "Why, it really is good to see a friendly face again. What do I owe the pleasure to?"

Jasin Natael would have cried out. He would have turned tail and never returned. He would have- he would have begged the Wheel to turn back. Joar Addam, instead, lifted his head. The weave al'Thor had used a long time ago was complex but still memorable. Without even thinking, he nearly seized saidin-

And saw himself shielded and killed, or worse. He was in no position to fight. It took him an entire blink of an eye to realize it. A different option came to him almost immediately and in panic he grabbed it, sinking his claws in.

"My," he smiled instead, spreading his arms innocently "I just came to see how you were doing, M'Hael. The Black Tower is greater every day I see it! It must be a handful."

"Is it ever not?" Taim started sifting through some papers on his desk, movements smooth and slick. He seemed to be _flowing_ with every move, like black water across the rocks. Joar suppressed a shiver.

"Do you even sleep anymore?" he asked, trying to keep any sort of conversation, to give himself time to think. With the constant pain ripping his bones out of his body every day, it became surprisingly simple to mask his distress behind gentle, nagging concern or a pleasant smile.

"Barely" Taim sighed, smiling again. He rested his head on his hand, looking at Joar through half-lidded eyes, exaggerating the exhaustion that was already there as joke to share.

Even with the deep, dark circles around his eyes, he never smiled this much, or looked right at Joar's face so openly. Every conversation with him used to be the chance for them both to thoroughly get to know the room around them, enough to open a Gateway in it. Joar shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking. He couldn't let his guard down around the one person he nearly trusted anymore.

For some reason, it hurt. It squeezed at his chest and the back of his eyes, his throat felt like he sang in the wrong kind of a deep voice for several hours, his soul wanted to collapse in on itself and never come out. The hopelessness, grief, the _loss_ had pressed down on him like the weight of the entire Wheel running him over. It hurt even more than his body, it was deeper than the ache in his bones. So, naturally, something in him snapped.

"That's not good" he responded, slowly stretching his lips into a smile as he took a few steps towards the desk. He even tilted his head, letting the few loose curls of his grown out hair swing. "Now that you're finally with us, you can't afford mistakes, M'Hael. The Great Lord takes no excuses, not even rightful exhaustion from working for Him too hard."

What he saw cross Taim's face - shock, confusion, clarity - for some reason, disappointment, culminating in another one of those tilted smirks that tugged on something in Joar's chest that still hurt, almost broke his composition. He kept the small, superior smile, but let himself mentally sigh in relief.

"I'll admit I'm impressed" The thing wearing Taim's face said, Joar reminded himself it only wore the face "I'd even stopped suspecting you - and what a place to be in! You have him in the palm of your hand!"

"I'm good at pretending" Joar closed his eyes so they didn't ruin the impression a smug smile at his lips left - how he wished he was lying when he said that. "But I wish you hadn't taken so long - really, Mazrim? I'll admit, I'm impressed." he smirked, feigning self-satisfaction.

Taim blinked once, then threw his head back laughing. Joar pushed the terror somewhere into the back of his spine - they throbbed much the same way - and sat on the edge of Taim's desk. A small part of him - the one that perhaps pushed him into the Shadow - admitted that half the reason why seeing Taim this happy and seemingly carefree hurt so much was because - well, he was never this happy before.

Taim looked up at him, still smiling. Slowly, that smile dropped, giving way to something darker, scheming, more in line with the darkness in his eyes. Joar struggled to keep a carefree face as he tilted his head inquisitively.

"You're the one who speaks of taking too long" Taim finally spoke, deep voice suddenly cold. "When you've been with him since the Waste and he's still walking."

Joar thought frantically about it, but the answer came itself - like lace, the entire story seemed to come together.

"The prophecies, Taim. I know you're aware of them - after all, how would Great Master spill his blood in Shayol Gul if I just let him die here?" He shook his head, hiding his relief at the slight thoughtful nod he got in response. "My brothers and sisters think killing him would benefit them, but really? They are some of the greatest minds of our Age, but most of them can barely even think beyond grabbing for power."

Taim raised his eyebrows halfway up to his hairline, nodding. Then his eyes widened, the things between them even more exposed to the world, and Joar tried not to shudder.

"Our age, master Natael?" he whispered, and Joar realized even Turned could feel fear.

Taim's eyes went to the harp in Joar's hand, and then he simply whispered 'oh' and stood up from the chair so fast it slid back an entire foot, kneeling on the carpet and pressing his forehead to the floor.

And Joar had no idea what had just happened, but was all the more grateful for whatever it was that bore Taim's face was still as intelligent as the original. Intelligent enough to fall for this.

"I live to serve, Great Master" Taim mumbled from the ground, shaking "I will take all deserved punishment for offenses I've made-"

"And why" Joar cut him off immediately, staring at the back of his own hands, fingers outstretched "should I punish you, Taim, if you only did what I wanted you to?"

He heard rustling on the floor and glanced down to see Taim looking up at him. He did his best scoff, the performance-worthy one, waving his hand up lazily.

"Come on up, boy. I worked hard enough to avoid standing out, you wouldn't try to my plans now, would you?" he said, faking exasperation. Maybe he should have punished him anyway, to throw off suspicion? At the thought of channeling he fought back nausea.

To his relief, Taim immediately sprang up from the floor, channeling a quick weave to shake dust off of his knees. A completely unnecessary, everyday use of saidin, despite the taint - why, he was a Second Age man to the bone, wasn't he? Joar smiled again, then in a fit of inspiration and what he would assume was suicidal intentions he stretched his hand out and smoothed a strand of Taim's - not Taim's, he reminded himself- hair out of his face.

Taim raised an eyebrow and his lips curled into that half smile again and Joar let himself smile for the audience. He compared the terror of the situation now to the stage fright from when he still performed and found them remarkably similar - and after all, everything depended on his good performance now. There will be no applause - there will, however, be a chance at survival. He brought the hand he touched the thing with Taim's face with to his chest, still smiling.

He didn't expect to see the hints of loss when he pulled back, the slight hunger in Taim's features when the monster looked at him again. He forced himself to smile wider, heart drumming in his throat.

"I don't have to tell you this visit never happened, do I?" he said almost teasingly, tilting his head again, surprised at how calm he sounded. He suddenly remembered he hasn't touched saidin once during this entire conversation, never uttered a single threat. This was not the behavior of a Chosen.

Or perhaps was, the one Chosen who believed himself powerful enough to not need to reach for any of those methods. He looked at Taim concealing his anxiety, praying he would come to the right of the two conclusions. He didn't seem to have come to either however, still looking at him studiously - his head was slightly bowed so he was looking up, through his eyelashes. Joar slapped  whichever part of him howled in pain at the sight without thinking about the why.

"I wouldn't know-" Taim started, cautiously "the Great Masters of the Dark don't divulge their plans so.... easily."

To Joar's relief, Taim subconsciously raised his shoulders as though to protect his neck while speaking. Even the thing that wore his face was not certain yet.

"Their plans rely on cutting others down to become the favorite- oh, but may have I said too much?" He brought his finger to his lips, smiling when Taim looked straight at him. "I've abandoned those... aspirations. It will all be gone once He wins anyway, so why bother with it? I'm satisfied where I am."

Taim nodded slowly, still not looking convinced. Joar took another risk, praying that whatever ta'veren magic on the Pattern has rubbed off on him. He ran his hand down the edge of Taim's face, lifting his chin up to look him straight in the eyes. The things that wore Taim's skin were - terrified, actually. Joar leaned in and felt a mixture of bitterness and satisfaction when Taim winced back only about a hair's breadth. He pressed a kiss to Taim's forehead and leaned back, grinning triumphantly at the completely baffled man-and-thing-that's-not-man.

"It does... sound right, Great-" Taim stuttered "Master- Natael."

Joar gave him another smile, as beautiful as he could manage in the circumstances. Taim sat a little straighter. He succeeded - the monster truly thought him to still be Chosen. He probably didn't even know it was possible not to be.

"I knew you'd understand - now, you must also understand why no one can know of my visit to you."

When Taim blinked, it was clear he didn't. Joar inhaled, mad at himself that what he would say next didn't even qualify as a bluff.

"You're very dear to me, Mazrim-" he began with a mournful tone, looking out through the window - and Taim sat straight as a rod "If any of them realized this - well, you could be in even more danger than you are now."

"And that would bother you?" Taim asked, a hint of disbelief - he had enough Dark in himself already before being Turned, Joar thought, just enough to keep more of himself than most.

He smiled instead of answering and touched a finger to the spot on Taim's forehead where he'd kissed him. This time the monster didn't flinch, instead smiling a bit. Not smirking, smiling. An expression he's never made.

Joar shoved his hands back into his pockets and got off of the table. He smiled at Taim and waved a little goodbye. Taim merely inclined his head, luckily not going to the floor again. Taim released the wards and Joar slipped out of the door, walking as calmly as he could out of sight of the Asha'man. Then he gradually sped up, nearly running through the hallways of the Black Tower, his heart in his throat. He tried not to think about what had just happened, barely keeping the panic concealed.

He saw a familiar face in the courtyard and immediately ran over to him.

"Master Gernhald" he called out as loudly as he dared, cussing internally at the slightly hysterical undertone in his voice.

The Dedicated turned towards him. They have shared a few words earlier. He was a good man. Something seemed to be bothering him at the moment but all Joar could do was inhale to try and calm himself down.

"A Gateway, if you would" he bowed and stood straight again, no longer able to hide the panic on his face.

He felt the saidin and blinked when a gate to Caemlyn opened. It was so hard to keep from crying, even harder when old Dedicated's voice held him back.

"Any news from Lord Dragon?" the man seemed almost hopeful.

Joar shook his head sadly, letting the grown-out hair hide as much of his expression as possible.

"I'm sorry." How to tell someone the Tower was ready to topple over?

He stepped one foot through the Gateway, but something held him back. He looked at Androl over his shoulder, examining him head to toe.

"Something wrong?" the channeler asked, looking at him with genuine concern.

Yes, everything. The world. Everything was wrong and nothing could ever be made right again-

"...No. It's nothing. Just... may the Light keep you safe, master Gernhald. By the Maker, we all need it these days." he managed to fake another smile. It was like returning to a stage for a reprise. Just like that.

"That we do. Light keep you safe too, master Natael." The Dedicated seemed thoughtful. Joar wanted to scream.

Instead he jumped through the Gateway, running through the Caemlyn palace hallways. He stopped and slowed down, the lump in his throat growing and pulsing and hot but he kept his face smooth in front of the quickly bowing servants.

The moment he entered his chambers, he locked the door behind him and collapsed to the floor, heaving. Like tears have only waited for him to stop pushing them down, he cried the way he hadn't since he was a child. It all added together - the months of pain and terror, and now this. Shadow was never playing fair, but completely robbing someone of choice like this was - well, not unimaginable. But this time it was personal to a degree he couldn't fathom.

He rolled around the carpet, every movement sending spiraling pain from the muscles that dared move, and it still did not even compare to the thing that gnawed on his soul from the inside. Taim should have been given the choice, he wasn't happy in the light - but the thing that now lived in his skin was perfectly satisfied, as it seemed.

Joar stopped squirming, instead just pressing his face into the carpet as he heaved. He mentally went over the entire conversation, the years of analyzing his own actions and picking out all he did wrong in his youth finally making a return. The thick Tairen carpet got damp where his face was and when he finally shifted a little, he was looking at the legs of the table in his room.

He touched a finger to his lips, remembering how warm Taim was even when... well, when he wasn't. It was unfair how much of himself had been preserved. Still, Joar couldn't not feel slightly proud. No matter how wrong the world was, that had really, really been a good performance.

Except now one of their most important allies was most definitely working for the Shadow, knew 'master Natael' was, in fact, Asmodean, _and_ believed he was still on the side of dark. Plotting to keep al'Thor alive so he could fulfill the prophecies.

"Guess I'm still lying to him" he muttered in the Old Tongue, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. His eyes stung, a real, worldly sensation and he clung to it. How would he keep up _that_ lie when any of the Chosen could tear it down in seconds?

 _Maybe I should really kiss him next time_ he thought, then immediately slapped himself over the face with as much force as he could muster. It stung as well, and somehow a pain that ordinary made it easier to think. No kisses. No kisses for something that's not all there. He's not Rahvin. First because Rahvin's dead and second because he's better than that. Although it really was shameful how fast he thought of it.

He pushed down any thoughts of kissing anyone or Compulsion, even the helpful one that if Compulsion could be undone perhaps Turning could too, freely letting himself panic.

Not break down in hysterics - just pure, clean, undiluted panic. By the Light that's found its way in, Mazrim Taim has been Turned.


End file.
